Life Passed Me By
by Dr. Dani Suess
Summary: Lima, Ohio. Population: who really cares? Area: Too small to document. Living in a town like Lima, it's easy to understand why most people blend into the background; but not everyone is as boring as they seem. The Glee club just may be in for a surprise.
1. Mr Shuemacher has a wife?

_Hey! Look who's decided to do a _Glee_ fic…_

… _Me. Yeah, me. Sheesh. I know. I know. I suck at updating, but I have a whole boring, empty summer ahead of me and I promise I will update often. I have a story arc planned out! No writer's block for me!_

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

"Girl with the dumb name! If you can't stick that aerial landing flawlessly, then maybe you can try sticking your landing when I kick you off this team!" screamed Sue Sylvester.

It was a normal day at Cheerio practice. Sue Sylvester was psycho, Quinn was ice cold, the usual.

"I'll be sure to do that," I muttered under my breath. This was not what I signed up for when I decided to join the cheerleading squad my freshman year. Sue Sylvester is one crazy bitch. At least now we have a mutual respect for each other (inward scoff), but she still refuses to call me by name.

She stalked over to the CD player on the practice field and nearly knocked the device over when she all but punched the repeat button. Within seconds, Britney Spears's "Toxic" blasted from the speakers and we started the routine again.

I purposely botched my landing once more just to piss Sylvester off. She gave me a death glare, but didn't say anything. She knew I got the point. I knew how to land the damn thing. Just as Quinn reached the top of the pyramid, Sue yelled "Practice is done for the day. I want you all to run five miles when you go home. And you better do it, because I'll know if you don't!"

Eager to escape any other possible reprimands, I practically sprinted off the field into the changing rooms.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

It was still light out after practice, and I considered leaving and going home right then, but I knew I needed to type up an AP French essay and AP Chemistry lab report for tomorrow. It was going to be a long night. I scoured around the hallways for one of the janitors who usually opened the media center doors for me when I needed to use the computers. Instead of finding one of them, I ran into my friend's Spanish teacher. Mr. Schuemacher, I think? They all just call him Mr. Shue. I don't know why anyone would want the nickname "Shoe" but I guess that's how things go. He looked at be curiously. Kids are not supposed to be wandering the halls at six after extra-curriculars are done.

"Can I help you?" he asked me.

"I was just looking for one of the custodians."

"They all went home already. Principal Figgins wanted to lock up early because of the recent thefts. Is it something I could help you with?" He didn't sound suspicious of anything, so I figured I could get off by telling a fib.

"Oh, no, thank you. I just thought I left something in the Media Center. Thanks for your help, Mr. Shue." I turned to go.

"Have you been in any of my classes before?" He interrupted my exit.

"Uh, no. I'm a sophomore, and you teach junior classes."

"Oh. So, I guess I'll see you next year then?" At this point, I turned around because he seemed like a polite guy and I didn't want to blow off his attempts at conversation.

"I actually take AP French, not Spanish. Sorry… Actually, I was trying to get in the Media Center to type up an essay for French, and a lab report." Mr. Shue's facial expression changed as he realized my predicament.

"They have computers for public use at the library if that helps," he supplied.

"Tried that. You need a library card, and they cost fifteen bucks to get."

"Oh. Hey, listen. I can drive you over there and we can get-" This conversation just took a turn for the _incredibly _awkward.

"No, it's okay, really, I can just write them by hand. She doesn't deduct that much-"

"Really. I insist." It was as if a big flashing light was telling me 'This is all a plot to rape you' but he seemed so sincere and it really would help me, so I agreed.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

Surprisingly, the car ride was not entirely awkward. Mr. Shue tried his best to strike up conversation.

"So you're a sophomore in AP French? How did that happen?" Mr. Shue asked me.

_Sigh, _where to begin? "Well, I started school a year late because I was born and lived in Wales for awhile, where my birthday did not make the cut-off date for Class of 2013. I was born July 31st and they put me in what you would call Class of 2014. When I moved here, I went to a charter middle school to catch up to the grade I should be in but ended up moving a grade ahead as well. So, I became part of the Class of 2012 and have to take advanced classes. That's why I'm a sophomore in AP French."

"So what other classes do you take?"

"AP English 11 Language, AP Chemistry, AP Statistics and Honors Advanced Math II, Honors American History I, Honors Advanced Economics, Theatre Arts II, and Acappella Choir."

He let out a long whistle. "Wow. That's a heavy courseload… Did you say choir?"

"Mhmm."

"You know, I'm just signed back on as director of Glee Club, and we don't have a lot of members. We're always looking for more. If you like to sing, you should consider it."

"Thanks, but, Ms. Sylvester really does not like Glee Club, as I'm sure you know, and cheerleading takes up the majority of my time."

"You're part of the Cheerios?"

"Secretary"

"I wasn't aware they had a secretary."

"President and Secretary. I don't do much. Make copies and stuff, document routines."

"Oh."

It seemed our topic of conversation had run its course. Luckily, we arrived at the library only moments later. Mr. Shue parked right in front of the entrance. I burst from the car as if I were an escaping prisoner. I hoped he didn't notice that I was so eager to get out. Mr. Shue's cellphone rang before he could get out of the car. The caller ID spoke in a robotic tone, "Terri calling", in pauses in between Kanye West's "Golddigger". A look of worry plastered his facial features. Must be the wife.

Next thing I know, Mr. Shue's shoving a ten and a five in my hands and mumbling something about "Wife… pregnant…gotta go". Then he sped out of the parking lot, and that was the last time I saw Mr. Shue for a few weeks.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

_A/N- You know the drill._


	2. I can be Ilse, too

_A/N- Holy shit! A second chapter. I know, so proud of myself. Decided to post it right after the first as a little treat and incentive. Also to prove I _will _actually update this._

_Disclaimer: Don't own Glee. _

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

As I approached my front lawn, I saw that the lights in the front room were off. Roy's pickup truck was in the driveway, but Fred and Tom's cars were nowhere in sight. I figured it was a late night college party. The time was ten thirty p.m. and it was past my curfew, so I had to be careful to enter quietly through the back door on the porch. Unfortunately, that required climbing a tree, going far out on one of the branches, and leaping from said branch over the porch railing. This would not be my first time doing so by any means, Tom and Fred had passed on the art of sneaking in once I turned thirteen, but that's not to say it isn't a pain every time.

I groaned inwardly as I approached the maple tree. There were ragtag slats of wood nailed onto the trunk for exactly this purpose, so I placed my foot on the first one, then each consecutive one, until I reached the first branch. From there, I had to use my arms to pull me up to each next branch. After about three or four branches, I had to walk out along the thickest one there. It was a little wobbly, but before it got too unstable I took a big running leap and landed swiftly and silently on the porch. Thank god for being on Cheerios. I knew how to land as skillfully as a cat- awkward, but true.

I whipped out my set of house keys and unlocked the porch door before entering. The dining room was pitch black. Using my hands, I was able to feel the furniture and get out of the room and into the hallway without breaking or crashing into anything. Soon enough, I was on my way downstairs.

"So," Roy began lazily from the couch in the front room. It was dark and I couldn't see him, but I knew he was lying, watching me. I froze. "Thirty-nine minutes late. That's the fourth time this week."

"I had to type up a lab report at school."

"Who drove you home?"

"One of the teachers, Mr. Schue…macher…."

"You let a teacher drive you home? I've heard enough. You're grounded. And isn't that the teacher who was singing like a fag at the PTO meeting? I read about it in the papers; what a disgrace. They shouldn't be allowed to do that." I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming at him.

"He has a _wife_, dad. She's pregnant."

"He could have ten wives for all I care, and I still wouldn't buy that he wasn't a homo. Now, if I ever hear about you speaking with him again, there'll be consequences. You hear? Now, go to bed." I didn't bother mentioning that I had not eaten dinner because there was no point in it. I knew he had not made me anything anyways. Instead, I simply obeyed and plodded down the stairs to my basement bedroom. "And turn those lights off, or I'll cut the cords for you!" I scowled and grabbed a flashlight, flicking it on before turning the other lights in the room off. _It's going to be a long night_, I thought as I crawled into bed with my book bag, pulled the covers over my head, and got to work on my math problems.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

The alarm rang much earlier than I needed or wanted. I was still awake in my bed, just finishing up my AP Stats work. I had yet to touch the history reading I had been assigned and I had not worked on my theatre monologue in quite some time. The second showing was today, and I knew I was not ready. Thankfully, for once, Ms. O'Leary, my economics teacher, had given us a free night. Grabbing my history textbook, I bounded into the bathroom before Fred or Tom could rush in and skimmed through the pages I was assigned while taking care of my hygiene and assessing my hair. It looked quite lackluster after a hard night of studying so I quickly showered and made sure to use my shampoo especially for redheads. When I stepped out of the bath, it looked as shiny and as red as ever. Then, I teased it, and applied a small amount of black eyeliner, mascara, and slightly red lipstick. My phone said it was 6:30 and I had twenty minutes to get to the bus stop.

In record speed I deposited my text on my bed and slipped into a black sparsely-flowered tank top and indigo skinny jeans for school. The shirt was a little too cleavage-parading for my liking, not that I really should go around parading anything. Don't mind me; I'm just complaining like the majority of the female teenage population.

Fred came into my room after taking a shower in Roy's bathroom. We weren't actually related in any way. My father, Jonathan, who was Welsh and lived in Wales, married Roy's sister, Hope, who lived in England with their mum. When my mum and dad died, all my siblings were over eighteen so they dispersed around the globe for university, Tory moving to Australia, Iwan going to Scotland, and Aneurin holing up in a flat in London, while I was sent to live with my only living relative, Roy, in Lima, Ohio. Roy had previously been married to a woman who brought them two sons, Fred and Tom from a previous marriage. They soon divorced, and the woman passed away, but Fred and Tom were forced to live with Roy. This was around the time I came into the picture. So now we were all living in a sad, loosely related family.

At least Fred and Tom, identical twins, have red hair like me. Mine is more striking, though, while theirs is slightly strawberry blonde. They're dead ringers for Prince Harry (they have the same accent too, picked it up from their own mum), which is why I can't help but think they're pretty handsome. But since we're technically unrelated, I don't feel bad about it. This is why I should probably see a therapist.

Fred and Tom were over eighteen now, but they went to college nearby, so they still lived at home to cut costs. If there was anything this family needed, it was to cut costs.

"Is that what you're wearing to school?" He inquired as he dried his hair with a towel.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, if you're gonna complain about not having a boyfriend, maybe you should look at the way you dress." What was this, fashion intervention? What Not to Wear?

"Excuse me. For your information, I do not _complain,_ nor do I want a boyfriend. And what's wrong with the way I dress?"

"Oh, nothing. Nevermind. And for the record, I don't want you to have a boyfriend either; otherwise I might have to go beat him up occasionally."

"Tell her she doesn't dress nice, that's the problem!" Tom yelled from his room down the hall. No doubt he was still in bed.

"I do too dress nice! I have plenty of nice clothes, you know! Kurt gives me all his designer stuff that he grows out of, and all of the designer stuff he gets that's meant for girls."

"Yeah, but the difference is Kurt wears that stuff. Even if it does get him beat up." Fred supplied. He had met Kurt a few times when he was over our house. Only ever when Roy was not home, of course.

"Fine, how's this for you? Nicer?" I put on a necklace from Alexander McQueen that Kurt told me 'was so my taste, it was a crime to keep it for himself'. It was made out of super-sized red dice, hanging in a upside down pyramid on a thick red twist of strings with various red beads above the top row of dice and a long beaded tassle at the bottom. It didn't look nearly as flamboyant as it sounded in description, but it definitely looked fancy and avant garde.

"Plenty," Fred told me, and walked away to get dressed himself.

I looked at my watch. 6:48

"Shit!"

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

The hallway was virtually a madhouse when my bus arrived at school. Kids were everywhere. Thankfully, my extreme claustrophobia only applied to circumstances when I was enclosed vertically, not around me. There were fifteen minutes until the bell would ring so I travelled like a ghost through the hallways until I found the alcove in the back corner of school. Virtually no one existed there, except for all my friends who hung around. Many people came and went various days. I assumed my rightful position in the right hand corner next to the door.

I said my salutations to my friends surrounding the alcove and engaged in some shallow conversation with Erica sitting across from me as we all completed our schoolwork. Before I knew it, the bell rang and we stood up to go to our respective classes. First up for me was AP Chemistry and Erica walked with me to the science hallway.

As I came into the classroom, my teacher yelled out "If your lab reports are not on my desk before you take your seats, I will _not _accept them!" I had a long day ahead of me.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

Economics, Math, English, Stats, and History had all passed by uneventfully. I got a 100 on my history quiz even though I only skimmed the reading.

AP French was next. This class was always a riot. My teacher was so scatterbrained I wondered why she taught at all and who would ever hire her.

The bell rang to let my teacher know class was starting, but she still sat chatting at her desk with some juniors from the French 4 class she taught. I took my seat in the corner on the left side of the room. I was the only kid in the class that was not a senior, but I was pretty good friends with most everyone there.

"Psst! Aeron." Despite the fact that the nickname was starting to get on my nerves, I turned to who was speaking. "Did you do the essay?"

"Yep." I had little to no patience for Greg. He was possibly the most annoying person I'd met in my life. Seriously, did this child ever stop grade-grubbing?

"Oh," he said dejectedly, like he had been hoping I had not.

"Didn't start yet?" said Faye as she slid into the seat next to me. It really was more of a statement than a question so I didn't respond. Faye was in my AP Chem class and Honors Advanced Economics class as well. She was, obviously, a senior, but she had no qualms with befriending a sophomore.

"So, how was your guys's weekend?" asked Taryn. This was the dropped class yesterday, so we had yet to regale each other of our frivolous weekend wanderings.

"I did absolutely nothing, you know me," Elle joked.

"Same. Spent it all doing this goddamn essay, that I bet you she won't even check." Faye seethed. As much as I would hate for that to happen, I knew it would. Ms. Dupont was so unreliable and unorganized I could smash her head against a wall. Yep, I definitely need therapy.

"I went to Washington, D.C. with my brothers. We left Friday and got back Monday morning. Took some pictures and stuff." Faye let out a long whistle.

"Way to just blow our boring weekends out of the water."

"Aren't your brothers in college?" Taryn asked.

"Yeah, but we usually go places over the weekend. Don't worry; they're not mutant college students. They go to their fair share of college parties during the week." And now, finally, possibly ten minutes into our class, Ms. Dupont decided to take charge.

"Guys, listen," she began in her accent, "Hey! Ta geulle!" The worst thing ever- scratch that- the best thing ever is when your teacher teaches you swears and uses them in class. "Now pass up your essays!"

"Thank god. If she didn't collect them, I was literally about to slap her in the face," whispered Elle, while the small class of sixteen scrambled to pass up their papers. It was obvious who had done the work and who hadn't.

"Now, we're going to use the conjugating ball!" she exclaimed happily and threw the ball with lightning speed at my face. I just barely caught it before it broke my glasses in half. "Okay, so left pinky. Future. Vous." I was appalled to see that my left pinky lay casually on top of the verb venir. I never knew what this was in the future, no matter how many times I was told.

"Uhhh… Vous… verr..venez…viendrez?"

"Good!" I triumphantly passed the ball back to her and reveled in the fact that that was the last thing I had to do in class. I took out my notebook and worked on some Harry Potter fanfiction until the bell rang again and I gladly skipped off to lunch.

Kurt was waiting for me at the cafeteria doors. We were some of the few people in sophomore class who had last lunch. The only other people I remotely knew in this lunch were Quinn, Santana, Brittany, and one of my senior friends from French. Kurt and I both scurried off to claim our rightful spot with Faye, Taryn, Elle, and their guy buds Ian and Matt on the plateau-type thing under the staircase.

I didn't eat anything, as nothing in the cafeteria was vegetarian and there was never anything at home to eat or bring to school, so I was lunch-less. I snagged some grapes from Ian and we conversed about the upcoming ski trip we'd planned to Toronto and Quebec. Kurt had opted out of this one, but my brothers were coming along, since they knew Ian and Matt from when they were on the football team; we actually won football games.

"So, your brothers are hot, right? I want something nice to look at on that long drive up." Faye wriggled her eyebrows at the innuendo.

"Okay, I'm officially declaring this conversation over," I laughed, and we continued on joking until the bell rang, signaling passing time for getting to eighth period. "Come on, Kurt. Let's go to Acappella!"

It took quite the running start to launch ourselves through the crowd on their way to classes; they were blocking our way to the music hallway. From so far away, I could already hear my choir director shouting, "Run! Run! I got new songs for you to look at!"

Some people wonder how Acappella manages to survive, much less exist, in a school like William-Mickinley, when the Glee Club is so shunned. Simply, choir is just a class for people who like to sing. No one knows much about what goes on other than we sing at important school events like graduation, commemoration, and awards nights. Other than that, we keep to ourselves. Most of the people in Acappella choir are upperclassmen into theatre who like to sing on the side. Kurt and I are the only sophomores and there are no freshmen in the class. No one gets solos, or so we tell newcomers, so there's no danger of that Rachel Berry girl joining. She _really_ gets on my nerves.

As I entered the room, Mr. Geller, the school's AP Psychology teacher who has a talent for singing, announced, "We just got some new music, but you only have ten minutes to look through them. After that we have to practice our repertoire for our gig at the Symphony Orchestra's concert!"

Another point I should probably mention: we hire ourselves out to events because we have a reputation around the state for being technically talented. We were singing at the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra's concert this weekend, and I had a solo during our Phantom of the Opera medley. We were set to sing that medley, a medley of U2 hits, Beatles hits, and Green Day hits (which were our four go-to medleys for performances), as well as "Apologize" by OneRepublic, "Circle of Life" from _The Lion King_, and "You've Got a Friend in Me" from _Toy Story_.

I was nervous, since it had just been announced that there were going to be auditions for the school musical _Cabaret _shortly. My theatre teacher advised me to try out: there was no harm in doing so. But, we also talked and agreed that such a show was not really my type-cast. She offered me an audition slot at the community playhouse a few towns over, where they took theatre _very _seriously. They were doing a travelling "summer troupe" of various shows like _Our Town_, _The Crucible_, _Les Miserables_, _Rabbit Hole_, _Polaroid Stories_, and _Rocky Horror Show_. I was determined to join said troupe and get any roles I could, but I reminded myself that those auditions were miles away. Throwing the idea from my mind, I turned to run through my monologue in my head. It was the part of Carol from Oleanna: it was pretty intense. I spent the rest of Acappella half-heartedly mouthing lyrics while constantly trashing and revising my monologue in my mind. Kurt's sidelong wary glances did not escape me.

Before I knew it, it was time for theatre class and I was being pushed into an empty corridor with four others while we prepped our monologues like it was a real audition. I sat silently in a corner and let my vision swim before my eyes and pictured my "moment before". I was drunk, at a party, and I thought I vaguely remembered someone pulling me into bed, taking advantage of me, and it looked like my teacher.

Then it was my turn.

"Aeronwen? Please come with me, I'll take that," said our teacher's helper Hayley, like a real audition assistant. Obviously, I knew it was a ruse, but I was so preoccupied with my imminent monologue that I didn't even think about it; I just obeyed. I handed her my audition sheet.

"Hi, my name is Aeronwen McFey, and I'll be reading for Carol from _Oleana._" I said in a slightly bored tone. My teacher told me to stray from this, as it made me seem almost _too_ nonchalant, so I tried to sound a little more upbeat, but ultimately failed. I skipped hesitantly and nervously as I moved a chair out of my audition space. I blinked as I adjusted to the bright auditorium lights and tried to find my position. My director gave no indication of when to begin, so I took initiative and bowed my head before looking up once again and starting my monologue.

"How can you deny? You did it to me. You confess. You _love _the Power. And you think it's _charming_ to question in yourself this taste to mock and destroy? Professor. And yet you say it's hypocrisy. But to the aspirations of your students… of _hardworking students_- who come here- who _slave_ to come here. You have no _idea_ what it cost me to come to this school! You mock us! From your so-protected, so-elitist seat, you hold our confusion as a joke. And our hopes and efforts with it. Then you sit there and say '_What have I done?_' and ask me to understand that _you _have aspirations too. But I tell you- I tell you- that you are _vile_. That you are _exploitative._ And if you possess one ounce of that inner honesty you describe in your book you can look inside yourself and see the things that I see, and find revulsion equal to my own. Good day."

My head was literally spinning from the forcible delivery I had just produced. I quickly, silently found my way to my seat and zoned out for the remainder of class. I only slightly heard my name mentioned the majority of the time as they gave me feedback. I couldn't hear any of it: my ears were still ringing.

There it was. The final bell. Escape.

"Aeronwen, I'd like to speak with you." My theatre teacher wanted to speak with me? We'd only briefly talked one-on-one to discuss type cast and possible roles, which is where her travelling community summer theatre troupe was brought up. "You know, that was one of the best monologues I've ever seen in a class." I mumbled an abashed 'thank you'. "There's currently auditions going on for a London version of Spring Awakening, and the auditions are coming to America next May for any Brits in the States. I have some connections with the casting director, and I can get you audition if you'd like it. I really must insist that you try for a role."

Spring Awakening? It seemed too good to be true. I had never told anyone, but I planned to go to school for musical theatre, and my dream role in life had always been Ilse for Spring Awakening. It was as if the opportunity was right in my lap. I had to take it.

"I'd really appreciate that, Ms. Hart."

"Good. I know you are part of the Cheerleading squad, and take A Cappella choir, in addition to my theatre class obviously, but I suggest that to prepare for the audition you take vocal lessons and dance lessons if you do not already. Also, I'd encourage you to join some musical extra-curriculars, like show choir, or a play, and draft up a professional resume and take a headshot."

I nodded my head wondering how in hell I was going to manage that. "Thank you, Ms. Hart. I have to catch my bus. I'll see you tomorrow."

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

So maybe I had lied to Ms. Hart, but I was not going to miss a Cheerios practice. Never had yet, and never would. Sue would go apeshit if I did, start spewing some random blabber about "you're the secretary, these girls look up to you, if you think getting to practice on time is hard, insert bogus reference here".

It had been one of the most intense workouts of. my. life. The whole practice, I could not help but continuously glance over at Quinn. She actually messed up a cartwheel. For the first time. She was obviously preoccupied, and I was the person closest to knowing what it was. I felt like a sinking ship practicing with the team knowing that I, soon, would have to step up and lead them.

As soon as I got home, I dived onto my bed. Fred and Tom were not home. Neither was Roy, which was a blessing. I groaned and rolled over, plucking my guitar from the crevice next to my wall. _You know, in a room this small, I really shouldn't be wasting space like this. _Other petty thoughts like these swam through my mind as I choked out a crap rendition of "Mr. Brightside" on my acoustic.

If I was going to join Glee, I would have to get my singing act together. Not that I was entirely horrible, but I was by no means pleasing to listen too. I should know. My grandmother used to tell me every time I even breathed to begin a show tune as young child, she felt like I was committing a felony against her eardrums. Thanks, grandmom.

If you're wondering where this abundance of self-confidence is from, applaud my family. They sure know how to bring up my self-esteem.

Please excuse my plethora of sarcasm. Kurt says its a self-defense mechanism. I should definitely be getting mental health consultations from Kurt. Ha. I make myself laugh sometimes.

Begrudgingly, I put my guitar away and took out some chemistry problems. Joy.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

_A/N: Meh. Tell me what you think. If I don't get criticism, I can't improve._

_Also, this is the link to a picture of what Aeronwen is supposed to look like. If you want to see her, look at it, if not, feel free to not, no big deal; but I won't be boring you with any details of her appearance during the story. I really hate that for some reason._

_www. hji. co. uk /image/2006-red-curls-qhs2283 .html_

_You just need to take out the spaces_


	3. But, I don't want to be captain!

_A/N: What? A third chapter? Holy shiz, that's the most chapters I've ever written for one story. _

_I just want to make it clear that, while the Aeronwen _is_ the main character in this story_, _I'm not going to shun the other canon characters. Quinn, Jesse, and Kurt will be main characters as well, and you'll get your first taste of that in this chapter. The other cheerleaders will be supporting characters, and the other Glee clubbers won't be shut out either. Just be patient _=]

_Disclaimer: DON'T OWN GLEE._

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

It was after eleven p.m., past her curfew. She could hear her parents arguing beyond her door. They may act like the picture-perfect quaint, and content family, but Quinn knew better. Her mother and her father were not happy.

They could act.

They could pretend like they didn't, but no one was above it. Everyone could lie. Quinn knew that better than anyone.

Maybe, she thought a bit highly of herself, pretending like she was aware of all the world's faults. A cynic at heart and a cross over it- yes, she decided- she knew about lying more than anyone.

Quinn flinched at the sound of a crash that seemed like it came from the living room. Maybe, she should go check. Maybe, she should stop being such a brat, stop being so selfish; but, she was Quinn Fabray.

The timer on the microwave beeped quietly from the kitchen next door. Some would call microwaving a pregnancy test under your parents's noses unfathomably idiotic, but Quinn just called it enthrallingly risky. The actual likelihood that her mother or father would notice her microwaving 'food' at this time at night, especially during an argument, was negligible. All she cared about was that there was a route to the kitchen that did not involve the living room. Getting in between those two when they were feuding was not her idea of a fun night. If she came into English class with _another_ bruise, her teacher would really start to wonder.

She silently slipped out of her room, closing the door behind her. Tiptoeing in a way that even ninjas themselves would be proud of (she had to laugh at the absurdity of such a thought while she was about to find out if she was _pregnant_), Quinn made her way to the kitchen without attracting attention from her parents. Getting the microwave open sans noise was another story entirely.

Her mother had been nagging Russell about the prehistoric microwave for some time now. The attempts had been fruitless; getting the squeaky appliance to open quietly was now the only thing that stood in the way of… well… She couldn't bring herself to think it, because thinking it made it all the more real.

With one finger on the latch's button, she eased the microwave door open centimeters at a time, stopping at even the slightest hint of sound. Surprisingly, it was not that difficult. And there it was. The test was sitting on the microwave plate and all she had to do was look at it; but, before she could even grab the thing, her parents stormed into the kitchen. With her heart beating faster than a hummingbird's wings, she snatched the test and shoved it in the most secure hiding place she could think of- her bra.

"Judy, for the last time, I am _not _having an affair!" Quinn froze at the realization that they had not noticed she was in the room. The voice in her head said so in a bitter tone. Acting on auto-pilot, she ducked behind the counter and slowly opened and backed into an empty cabinet in the island. She was even surprised that she could fit. It had been more of a "I have no other ideas so I'm going to try something really dumb" possibility. The door swung shut noiselessly. She silently thanked God for being on her side tonight.

How long she was in the cabinet, Quinn did not know. She tried her best to ignore the cutting jabs her parents were making at each other, but, since there was no light to examine the result of her test in, she had nothing else to do. Eventually, the storm passed, the lights were flicked off, and her parents stomped off to sleep- in separate rooms, of course. When she knew the coast was clear, Quinn bounded off to her room and collapsed in the bed, instantly falling into a deep sleep.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

Walking through the halls that morning was the most difficult thing Quinn had done in her life so far. To think, before this, the hardest thing she had ever done was landing an aerial off the top of one of Sue's famous Cheerio pyramids.

She was going to break into tears at any moment. _Unacceptable,_ she could hear Sue Sylvester exclaim in her head. _Cheerios never show weakness! Now suck it up and cry over something useful, like my hip-replacement._ That may have been a small exaggeration, but it did the trick.

Quinn swallowed all her doubt- and tears. She marched up to Finn's locker. This was happening. It was real. She was pregnant, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Well, she could; but she would never. Quinn was going to hold her head high and muddle through this.

"Finn." He turned quickly at the sound of her voice, a big smile plastered on his face.

"Hey Quinn! Look, I just got these tickets to-"

"We need to talk."

And, just like that, Finn's face fell.

But, simultaneously, somewhere inside her, Quinn's confidence rose. She could- no, she _would_ come out of this pregnancy unscathed. Emotionally and physically. No stretch marks for her.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

To anyone else, it would have been a shock.

Right after she had told Finn about her pregnancy, the first thought through Quinn Fabray's mind was: "I'm going to be kicked off of the Cheerios."

There was no way around it. To her, the two ideas were linked: I am undeniably pregnant, thus, I am going to be kicked off the squad. If for nothing else, then, for that, Quinn desperately hoped she was not pregnant, but in her heart she knew. Cheerios meant everything for her. She meant everything to the Cheerios. She was president for god sakes! Someone would have to take her place, and doubtless said person would run the Cheerios into the ground.

The Cheerios needed a fearless leader- one who could combat the wrath of Sue Sylvester. For that reason alone, the choice was clear. Admittedly, she was a good choice. She would know how to handle things. That didn't mean Quinn had to like it one bit.

Then, an idea sparked. If she could make sure said choice was president, then, maybe, Quinn could manipulate her, so it was as if she was virtually still president herself.

Quinn may be pregnant, but she wasn't stupid. She was not going to let this pregnancy ruin everything she had worked so hard to achieve in high school. She was not going to fall.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

I don't entirely know how I came to be standing next to a men's urinal having a conversation with Quinn Fabray. Sure we had worked together before- we were the only officers of the Cheerios- but those conversations had found me on the receiving end of merciless orders, like a sad unloved puppy-dog. How I hated being Cheerios secretary.

"Listen up, McFey, and listen good." I winced at the use of my surname. She sure could be malicious when she felt like it. "And when I say listen, I mean listen. Don't talk."

Awestruck, I nodded.

"Sue is going to kick me off the Cheerios." Of course, I had to restrain myself here from asking what she had done that would result in such a drastic move by the head coach. "I'm obviously not going to tell you why, I haven't told anyone yet-" _lie_, thought Quinn- "but, anyways, when I get impeached I need to be sure someone competent and tough is going to take over the job for me. That's where you come in."

So far, I did not like the sound of this at all.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

"I'm auditioning for kicker of the football team," Kurt blurted out in the middle of our lunch period on Wednesday. It took everything I had not to spew soda out of my nose.

Ian and Matt just stared at him.

"I know it's not… customary… for a man of my… impeccable taste and stature…to be caught in one of those hideous costumes, much less with those dreadful shoulder pads, but I decided the team could benefit from my flexibility and skill. After all, they've lost every game so far this year. They really can't get any worse." The fact that he just aptly justified his outburst made the whole situation even more alarming for me.

"So what exactly are you getting out of this?" Faye wondered.

"I might have accidently told my father that I was on the football team after he caught me wearing my leotard dancing to 'Single Ladies'."

First, Quinn Fabray practically forces me to become Cheerios president, and, now, Kurt was participating in athletic activity alongside the likes of Noah Puckerman? The world had gone mad.

"When's your try-out?"

"Afterschool today. Finn said he would take care of it. But, first, I'll have to go find a stereo. Obviously, I can't kick without Beyonce supporting me." This was really too much for me.

"We'll do our best to keep the other guys from ragging on you, but no guarantees." Ian supplied, trying to help the situation. Without another word, I stood up, threw away my soda can and walked away.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

"Hi. I'm Kurt Hummel and I'll be auditioning for the role of kicker."

He may have seemed confident on the outside, or so he hoped, but, on the inside, Kurt Hummel was falling apart. He needed to be kicker. There were no 'if's. He could not let his father know that he had been lying, otherwise…it would break his heart. He truly did not want to lie to his dad. It broke his own heart to know he was living a lie- constantly pretending to be someone he was not.

The truth of it was: Kurt Hummel was gay. He liked men. Boys. Boys, boys, boys. He had a crush on Finn, and he would not admit it because he was scared; scared people would not accept him for who he really was, scared he would not accept himself.

_Plenty of people have done it. It's not that hard!_ He told himself. But, it was. He _knew_ it would break his father's heart the day he looked him in the eye and finally said, "Dad, I'm gay."

It was for that reason that Kurt was trying out to be kicker. Kurt loved men; but, more than that, Kurt loved his dad. And he would do whatever he needed to if it made his dad happy.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

_A/N: Same shtick. Review please! Tell me if you see any grammar errors. I think I have a problem sticking with a tense, so just let me know if you see that pop up anywhere!_


End file.
